“I’m right here.” She points to the first door on the left.” Her hand trembles as she places the key into the lock and turns the knob. Turning to face me, she says, “Thank you again. For everything.”
“Do they bother you?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “They’re harmless.”
“Until they’re not.”
“I’ve lived here on my own for seven years. I can handle myself. Tonight, I had a momentary moment of weakness. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Pack a bag,” I tell her, looking at the flimsy handle and lock on her door.
“What?” She takes a step back and into her apartment.
“Pack a bag. You can’t stay here.”
“That’s not up to you,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Layla, it’s not safe.”
“This is my home, Owen. And who do you think you are? Telling me where I can and can’t stay. You don’t know me.”
My jaw ticks. “I can’t let you stay here. Look at this lock.” I reach for the door handle and wiggle it, showing her it’s loose.
“Thank you for your generosity.” She steps back, reaching for the door, and I place my hand on it to stop her.
“Please.”
More tears coat her cheeks, and I hate that I’m upsetting her, but damnit, I can’t let her stay here. This place is a dump, and those guys are sitting right outside her window.
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she murmurs.
Fuck me. “I’ll take care of it. Please, go pack a bag.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get you a room. Hell, I have a suite. You can stay with me.”
“Then what, Owen? That’s fine for tonight, or even until you go back to wherever you came from, but then what? That still leaves me here, in this ratty old apartment. Look, I appreciate your concern, but this is my life. I’ve worked hard to keep this shitty roof over my head.”
“I’ll stay,” I say, taking a step forward, putting us toe-to-toe.
“No.” Her hands land flat against my chest, holding off my advances to enter her apartment. “I don’t even know you. Hell, you just told me your name tonight. This is not happening.” She huffs out a breath, blowing the errant hair out of her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I’ve got this. Thank you again for the ride, and the generous tips. I’ll see you around, Owen.”
She gives me a shove, and I stumble back, surprised. This gives her enough time to slam the door in my face. “Layla.” I pound my fist on the door. Nothing but silence greets me. “Shit.” Making my way outside, I take in the five guys who are sitting around drinking and smoking. “Gentlemen,” I greet them. “How about a little business proposition?” I ask them.
“What ya got in mind?” one of them asks.
“Hundred bucks for each of you to leave this building and not come back for at least twenty-four hours.” They stumble to their feet. Hands held out. I slap a crisp hundred in each of their hands and watch as they blindly walk away from the building. It’s not much, but I’ll feel better about leaving her here on her own. I bought myself some time, but now I need a plan. I can’t let her stay here. I know that. What I don’t know is why it bothers me so much.
Chapter 4
Layla
If I thought I was tired last night, that’s nothing compared to today. I didn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t seem to shut my mind off. One minute I’m worrying about my car and how much it’s going to cost to fix it, and the next, my mind is consumed with Owen.
While I appreciate his concern, I barely know the guy. No way am I letting him put me up in a room, or even stay with him. No way. I’ve served him a week’s worth of meals, and we’ve exchanged small talk. That does not translate to a sleepover, or a hey, let me put you up for the night. Granted, the over-the-top tips he’s been leaving are going to go a long way in helping me repair my car. Just when I thought I might be able to get ahead, have a little extra in the bank for an emergency, said emergency rears its ugly head.
Such is my life.
Glancing at the clock, I see I have to be at work in an hour. I need to get my ass in gear. Grabbing my purse and making sure I have my keys to the car that doesn’t run, I head out after double-checking that the door is locked. Speaking of, I’m surprised “the gang” as I call them are missing from the front stoop. They’re not really a gang; at least, I don’t think they are. It’s weird that their catcalls don’t greet me, as well as the cloud of smoke and fumes of the alcohol on their breath. I shake out of my thoughts with a small smile. I’m worried about a group of men who have more times than not scared the hell out of me, if only Owen could hear my thoughts. I’m sure he would have something to say about missing them.
By the time I make it to work, I’m a sweaty hot mess. Thankfully, I brought my uniform rather than wore it, and some deodorant to freshen up. My first stop is the staff restroom and I do just that, before rushing to the break room to call the repair shop.
Tying my apron around my waist, I make sure I have a pen and my notepad. I’m surprised when I look up into the vibrant blue eyes of Owen.
“Hey.” I give him an awkward wave. “I’m, uh… not used to you being here this early.”
“What time do you get off?”
Okay, no small talk. Got it. “Closing.”
“You closed last night. It’s eleven now. That’s a twelve-hour shift.”
“Can you honestly tell me you’ve never worked a twelve-hour shift?” I ask, my hands on my hips.
“That’s different?”
“Right,” I scoff. “Look, Owen, like I said last night, I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Maria needed the day off, and I offered to work for her. I can use the extra money,” I say, groaning internally. That last part slipped out. I didn’t mean to say it, but as with every time I’m around him, I tend to open my mouth and word vomit just happens.
“Have you heard anything about your car?” he asks, ignoring everything I said.
“No.” I sigh. “I had to wait until I got here to call.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have a home phone or a cell phone.”
“What? You can’t stay there alone without a phone.”
“I’ve been fine the past seven years without one.”
He inhales loudly. “Layla,” he says, exasperated.
“Owen, table for one?” I ask him.
“Fine,” he says through his teeth. I have to fight back my grin. Owen pissed off is kind of comical, especially since he has no merit. This is my life, and he has no say so. We’re not even friends, simply acquaintances. “Same table?” I ask.
“No. Here is fine.” He walks to a table not far from the main entrance, that just so happens to be in my section.
“What can I get for you?” I ask, pulling my order pad out of my pocket.
“Grilled chicken sandwich and fries, sweet tea.” He hands me the menu. “Where did you have your car towed?”